I don’t know what it is about our childhood that we can’t stop reminiscing. Maybe the innocence, maybe the ignorance. At some point, we lost track of time and grew up. Those days seem so long ago, but we’ll always carry a part of them within us. Sometimes in the form of playful memories, sometimes as cherished dreams. When you’re twenty and it hits you that you can’t control time, it begins to sting inside. What wouldn’t you give to live one of those days again, just a little bit differently?
I know that the only people who can bring us anywhere close to our long-gone childhood are our parents. Maybe it’s the unconditional affection, maybe the faith they have in us.
Sometimes, I wonder how they do it, and so universally.
I was allowed to be a child these last ten days. Today, they get back to India and I get back to reality.
I hate goodbyes.